stripethree

Ocean City Maryland, Thursday September 22, 2005, approximately 4:00pm, the H20 weekend begins with our arrival in The MD-OC!

Thursday: The pool was nasty. The ocean was a thief. The pina colada at Smitty McGees was loaded and the nachos and steamed shrimp caused a food coma. Mmmm Old Bay. Driving 40 blocks looking for grocery stores only to later realize there was one on 118th, three blocks away. Eating more Oreos than anyway should, drinking crunk juice, and decorating the refrigerator.

Friday: Cruising around most of the day in this hot little bitch basket (which cooperated quite well the rest of the weekend, knock on wood)

Shopping for NUMMERS, having the fridge appropriately stocked for the weekend, and plotting to steal a street sign as a europlate.

The gang’s all here, Balla Impala rental included.

Cruisin’ coastal highway with more Dubs that I have ever seen. It was absolutely fantastic. Then the partying began. Jello shooters. Andy’s German pussy. Even a lukewarm car bomb. Parrot Bay invades the Tropica Twiser.

The beach at like 1:00am, trashed, giving Hurricane Rita all she could handle.

Saturday: U-Turns breakin’ the rear end loose, tires beggin’ for mercy. Was that an undercover cop? I guess not… Food at, Dough Roller I think it was, setting off the car alarms whenever someone so much as looked at them. T Webb supervising the tow hitch equipped truck backing up near my car and giving the ‘T Webb approved’ thumbs up. More cruising. The best nap ever minus waking up stuck to the couch. The cleaning extravaganza at Brett, Katie, and Dan’s condo.

Mmmmmmm hamburgers. Brett reaffirmed his love for hot beef. Out to cruise again. Hooters, busted. Jolly Rogers, busted. Where’d we end up rollin’ into? The police lot. What irony. Chilled there a bit, then over to Candy Kitchen to watch folks fly by. Then back to cruisin’, ended up at Hooters, then back to the Serene, where the drinks were already flowin’. Dave takes Jaeger from T Webb. T Webb chases Dave. Dave exits via the balcony. Insane. A visit from a friendly female OCPD officer, whom once she closes the door, a drunken T Webb let us know she was the shizzle, in the biblical sense. Crashed early for the show Sunday.

Sunday: I hate 6:45am with a passion. Hungover? Back to Brett & Katie’s to clean again, and we roll out to Ocean Downs. Beautiful day. The usually cleaning madness ensues, and we await judgment. I snag Gabe the Heartbreaker under the guise of allowing his parents to clean the GLI in peace but really, in was an attempt to see this kid’s potential at chasin’ the skirts. They knew. Katie gave me that big sister-like head shake and grin. Gabe did not disappoint. Haha. “Skirts!?” What can I say, we kept it real. Like these guys’

Judgement passes, the car gets packed, and it’s time to roll around and see the sights. It wouldn’t be proper time with the CP crew if we didn’t get the munchies. The fries were magically delicious. I love you Patrick. Hahaha.

Watched the folks leaving the show do some burnouts.

Dinner at Hoopers. Oh. My. All you can eat shrimp, crabs, corn on the cob, hush puppies. All that and a couple of Coronas and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven after a day getting crispy in the sun. I can’ even being to relate the dinner conversation, it’s just, it’s just too much. There was also the occasionally non-vital food utensil that Gabe launched out the window every so often, just at the right moments. Back to the hotel, chill and watch The Longest Yard, which was decent, then pass out as a combination of all you can eat, beer, sun, and exhaustion.

Monday: Breakfast at The Bayside Skitllet. NEVER AGAIN. This unfortunately led to ditching the idea of go karts, talk about what would not have gone well, and after feeling better, some beach time and some cruisin’ time. Jailbait giggling ina white New Beetle… dusted. I decide to roll out with Brett, Katie, Gabe, & Dan because no one else was staying behind and I think I was ready to bolt from the OC anyway. Would rather feel sick in my own apartment then some ghetto fabulous hotel. Drop by Wawa, and yeah, Katie got me good, a joke not worth repeating because I won’t get it verbatim. Dan will attest however, the breezy skirt we witnessed was so worth it. Most action I caught all weekend. Haaaa haaaa. Mmmmmm mmm.

A fun, if uneventful cruise home, minus one run in with some fool in a gold Legend who thought he was the shit and some sassy chick in a black Tiburon that was tryin’ to start some ruckus. The long black shiny Magnum (it was a rental!) had to assert some authority. Otherwise a relaxing and rather quick drive home. Get home, moderately unpack, sort through pictures, passssss out.

Man the weekend was a blur. I can’t believe it flew by and that it’s already been almost exactly a week since I left to meet up at the Route 50 Wawa to cruise down. Vacations always appear that way in retrospective. It was some gooooood times. Until the next time…

Thursday Night, Smitty McGee’s off Rt. 54 on Fenwick Island.

Second car bomb of the night. Ike orders for us and the young lady (and by young, I really mean she could have been my grandmother) sitting within earshot of us at the bar turns upon hearing the order. She gives us the once over and returns to her drink. Our drinks arrive, the lady looks over again, and comments on how she loves watching”them young boys do those car bombs”. Great, whatever. Bottom’s up.

Maybe, ten, fifteen semi-hazy minutes later, I decide to go for a third (and final) for the night. No one in our group wants to come along, so I’m prepared to just go solo. I get the bartenders attention and ask him for one more car bomb. The lady from before overhears, looks over, and says,

“You doin’ another?”
“Yep. I’m on my own for this one though.”
“Oh hell, I’ll do one.”
(Cheers from our group)

Here we go. So I get mine, and kindly wait for the bartender to get another, still not quite sure what the hell is going on. I walk over and take the spot between our group and this lady and her husband as the bartender leaves her Guinness. She asks me my name so I introduce myself, and she says oh, my son’s name is Jeff, and he’s probably about your age! Thankfully, the bartender has excellent timing and arrives with her shot. I remember asking her if she was ready to go, but I don’t think I gave her much of a chance to answer. Cheers, bottoms up. She finishes just a bit after I do, puts the empty glass down, and says something to the effect of not being able to keep up because she has trouble swallowing it all. I don’t remember exactly what she said and am probably better off that way, but I shook her hand, wished her a nice evening, and returned to my original spot at the bar.

Excellent.

Then there was the argument with the other bartender about ACC basketball.